


There’s a better home awaiting in the sky

by killbot2000



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period Typical Homophobia, kind of, this is just porn and angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 14:55:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20622902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killbot2000/pseuds/killbot2000
Summary: Tragedy in four parts.





	There’s a better home awaiting in the sky

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write their relationship in accordance to canon as much as possible. Turns out that it’s really fucking sad so here it is.
> 
> Title taken from “Can the circle be unbroken” by the carter family

I  
His life filled itself with gunfire and violence. He left room for little else. It was the life he was born into and surely the death he would deserve. The amount of money he stole and people he fell only increased as the years passed. It was the only life he knew and John wished, at times, it would stop. 

The world would slow, only momentarily, in the small camps that Dutch would have them set up out in patches of land still untouched by civilization. John, still barely entering his twenties, found peace in those spaces. His family, mostly free of torment. His bones settling into the illusion of a life he could’ve had. 

A late summer night Dutch found another vulnerable young man, dragging him into camp like a trophy buck. He spoke little English and had skin deep brown, tanned by some sun far south of the border. Starvation announced itself through the gaunt lines of his face and the appearance of each individual rib in his chest. 

John mostly observed as he grew into their ranks, transfixed by some kind of feeling he didn’t have the word for. The young man had been starving out there on his own, but was fed and clothed and opened up to some of the family. John had passed him a bowl of stew as they sat around the campfire and met his eyes when the bowl left his hand. 

John tried to swallow the feeling rising in his chest, caught in the look the other man gave him. There wasn’t any expression on his face, maybe the barest hint of surprise in his dark eyes, but it threw John in a way he’d never been thrown before. 

After that there wasn’t much for him to do but panic, get drunk, and chase after the one girl he knew all the other men did. It wasn’t what he wanted, but Abigail was more than obliging and he tried for a night to pretend. 

He hoped it’d be enough to take his mind off Javier, but he was wrong, as he often was. 

They caught on like a brush fire. 

The two of them snuck off, on the last hot night of the summer. It wasn’t that they weren’t allowed to, but John thrived in the moments neither Arthur nor Hosea nor Dutch knew he had. They’d camped up north in the Heartlands, the night sky stretched up above them, the black canvas of the sky poked with thousands of needle holes, letting in the light of the heavens. 

John led Javier down a rocky slope, both of them slipping with the smooth soles of their boots. Javier laughed in surprise when he skidded down and flailed his arms in an attempt to balance himself. 

“Careful.” John cautioned, before slipping himself and sliding down to the bottom of the hill. 

Javier clicked his tongue, “Don’t tell me what to do.” He waited for John to collect himself, dusting off his pants and shirt hurriedly. “What do you want to show me?” 

“This, c’mere.” He grabbed Javier’s arm and pulled him down the valley. A flat pond, probably runoff or a dammed stream, sat still in the grass. 

“Water?” 

John let out a sigh. “Yeah, I-“ he waved his hand impatiently, “Look at the reflection.” 

There sat a clear mirror of the night sky in the water, interrupted here and there with bits of tall grass growing from the water. Javier smiled upon seeing it. 

“That is pretty.” 

Relieved, John let out a laugh. “Yeah? I think so too.” He brushed his hair behind his ears, looking down at his boots. Second-hand from Arthur and maybe a size too big. His trousers shoved in the tops without a second thought. He’d live to grow into then, he hoped. 

“Are you okay, John? You look...upset.” Javier gently grabbed his shoulder with concern. 

John looked up, “Mmm-hmm.” He wished he could shoot himself out of this one. He loathed the ease of violence. “I, uh-“ 

The impulse came and he couldn’t find it in his heart stop himself; he leaned closer to place a small kiss on Javier’s lips. 

He pulled away immediately, a deep wash of shame in his blood, his brain moving in molasses. His heart beat began to catch up, shaking his chest with alarm. 

Javier looked startled. “I, uh, didn’t know you liked that.” 

“I shouldn’t of-“ he started, wringing his skinny wrists anxiously, now looking away. 

Hesitantly, Javier set a hand on John’s chest, motions jerking in his own internal turmoil that John saw clearly painted on his face. He opened his mouth to try and say something, but found no sound would come out. 

Instead, he offered a small and crooked smile and leaned in to kiss him himself. John grabbed the sides of his face immediately, holding him in his hands, fingers in the stray hair framing his face. Javier tasted permanently of cigarette smoke and whiskey even in his young age, his mouth warm against John’s. 

They stayed down there that night, on the edge of the overflow pond that would dry up years later. John laid on his back, Javier on top of him, just kissing, unsure when to move on from there. They fell asleep beside one another, Javier tucked into John’s side, a smile still fixed on John’s lips even in sleep. 

In the morning Javier crept back up the slope into camp, leaving John still sleeping, trying to look as innocuous as possible. He greeted Miss Grimshaw, the earliest riser, with a pointed nod. A warm feeling rose in his chest that wasn’t the coffee. 

The next night they retraced their path down to the water’s edge and took up where they left off. John felt a little thrill at it all, beckoning Javier down farther into the valley, to the edge of the woods where he’d found a cabin, run down and long since abandoned. 

“We shouldn’t get too far from camp.” Javier cautioned him. 

He scoffed, kicking in the door, “What Dutch don’t know won’t hurt him none.” 

The cabin dripped from the roof and harbored spiders in its corners, but the door locked and the windows shuttered. John shut them down in nd was immediately on Javier, kissing everywhere but his lips and grabbing his ass to pull them closer together. Javier pulled John’s shirt from his pants and drew his fingertips up John’s stomach, barely touching his body, lightly tracing up his ribs. 

John pushed Javier back towards the only other room in the cabin, stumbling in his uncareful manner. The back of Javier’s legs met a low bed frame, and before he could look, John pressed a palm on his chest and he fell onto an old mattress. 

John leaned down to meet his lips again, pressing him down into the mattress. 

“John-“ Javier whispered to him, “-Can I…” He brought his hands to his own pants, tightening with an emerging erection. 

John felt his mouth go dry, “Yeah, what do you want?” 

He began unfastening his pants. “Switch with me.” 

Obliging, John laid under Javier, feeling himself getting harder as he watched his partner getting more and more desperate. He attempted to undo his own belt but his hands shook. Javier took the buckle in his hands and looked down to John. 

“Are you sure you want this?” 

John nodded, “Yeah. Anything.” 

Javier undid John’s belt and pulled his pants down around his knees. He ran a hand down John’s dick before pulling down his own pants. John let out a small, high moan at the contact and he worried for the first time if anyone knew what they were up to. 

Javier pushed John’s legs apart carefully, “Here...” He instructed, mostly with touches and gestures. His voice was soft, almost carried away by the drafts of the house. John wanted to hold onto that, just the two of them, lit by the moonlight through shutters and the broken roof, stumbling and unsure. 

He wrapped his arms around Javier’s neck when he thrusted into him, a small grunt coming from his lips each time. John continued to moan quietly, shallow breaths coming from his opened mouth, refusing to close his eyes because it was Javier who he was with. The guilty thoughts that had come to his mind while pleasuring himself recently really didn’t come close to getting fucked by a man. Let alone the man he’d been sneaking sidelong glances at for months. 

Javier, standing at the foot of the bed, leaned down and kissed along John’s neck as he fucked him faster. He bit at the base of his shoulder, drawing a yelp from John, and leaving a darkening bruise. Javier buried his nose into John’s neck and squeezed his eyes shut. He smelt of sweat and grass and the rich earth of the valley. He wished he didn’t want this as much as he did. 

The next day John wouldn’t meet his eyes. Javier noticed he’d done his best to cover the marks on his neck, and he felt guilty. There was proof. That and the soreness in his legs that ached and ached. 

He watched Abigail approach John in camp, her young face looking aged when she opened her mouth to speak. They moved behind a tent, hidden from the crowd. 

Javier took a quick glance around the campers, seeing them all preoccupied by their duties, he moved to follow them. He stood by on the other side of the tent, stooping to busy himself with ammunition crates. 

“It ain’t mine.” 

“How can you say that?” 

“How can you?” 

“Because I know.” Abigail pleaded with him, “I know.” 

A year after the birth of Jack, John left in the night looking for the kind of freedom only death offered. He didn’t find it. 

II  
Not even moving could he get the feel of ice from his fingers. Wolves howled nearby, followed by a two shot from a shotgun and a yell from Arthur. John held tightly onto Javier, as much as his bruised and frozen fingers would allow. The harsh wind stung the wounds on his face even when he pressed his nose against Javier’s back. 

“You ain’t gonna die. Not yet.” 

John opened his mouth to reply but he was fading, the white snow spotting itself with black, moving in and out of his vision. The tips of his fingers felt fuzzy and strangely warm.

Quieter, so Arthur couldn’t hear them over the storm, “I can’t lose you again, John.” 

John responded by hugging him tighter. Their horse bounded in the snow, every step a lurch, and he felt each landing in his bones, aching and tired as he was. It was the cold, he told himself. It would be foolish to give up now. He couldn’t. 

The next couple of days were a haze of needles and pain and feverish sweating under a pile of scratchy blankets. He felt like shit. He probably looked like shit. 

Abigail brought Jack to his bedside, her pointed face full of an emotion too complex for John to name. But he understood. She may loathe him but he was her boy’s father, and her boy always came first. 

He said something vaguely comforting to Jack he couldn’t quite recall, and gave Abigail a pained look of exhaustion. Her lips thinned and she pulled Jack from the cabin. He’d have to look elsewhere for pity. She’d never been the one to give it to him. 

The next morning, Javier showed up next to his bedside, a flask hidden in his pocket that he offered to John. 

“I don’t think my head can hurt any worse but I ain’t gonna find out.” 

Javier shrugged, bringing the metal to his lips. “It’ll warm you up.” 

“I’m warm, I’m just… sick of this cabin.” He looked up at Javier with the most hesitant look of a request. It was hard with a bandage covering most of his face but he managed. 

The man sighed, “Fine.” 

A smile broke out on John’s face, despite the pained look that settled in his eyes after. Their friendship had been mended after his absence but it still hurt Javier, he knew. It hurt most people, but he hadn’t even fallen for most people. 

Helping John from his cot, Javier kept a shoulder under the taller man’s arm, grabbed around his hips, and they carefully made their way to the door. 

“Dios mío, it’s freezing, are you sure?” 

John nodded, “Ain’t no blizzard yet.” 

Javier muttered something under his breath, but opened the door and led them out into the snow. To the right of the entrance, wrapped around the building, were stacks of crates discarded from the mining town. Javier sat John on one carefully, then sat down himself. Then he took his poncho off and swung it around John’s shoulders, pulling it tight and tucking one corner underneath the other. 

John blew a long and cold breath out into the air. “Ain’t too bad.”

A scoff from Javier, “Eres tonto.” 

“That don’t sound polite.” 

“I should leave you out here, for wolf bait.” He leaned closer to John, the only warmth in their bodies being the part that touched one another. Then he found John’s hand under the poncho, icy as it was, and gave it a squeeze. 

John squeezed his fingers back, even if it was feeble, and curled the corners of his mouth into a smile. 

“You okay?” 

“Yeah, I,” He looked up to the broken building beside them. Run down by avalanches and other feats of God. He laughed to himself, “Will you still love me even when I ain’t so pretty?” 

Javier laughed, “Good thing you was never pretty.” 

“Good thing.” He grinned, still looking pained. The gashes on his face’d been stitched up by the ever-steady Miss Grimshaw, but they were still raw and bloody. 

Outside, away from the safety and shelter of the cabin, Javier leaned in to kiss him. John kissed back. 

III  
Getting back from Sisika was, as Arthur’d put it, not the welcome party he expected. It wasn’t anything he expected. 

Eyes stared out from tents with fear. Not of him, but trained toward Dutch. Their leader brought down the wrath that Arthur had known lurked underneath, even tried to warn John of before. He saw it now. 

He saw it in others, too. Micah and Bill and the men that Micah had roped into camp. Human cockroaches, John decided, using them as their newest corpse to fester in. What he least expected, though, was to see it Javier. 

Abigail was delighted to see him return, thankfully. He wasn’t sure if it was warranted. Their relationship had crumbled to just whispers of what it once was. John deflected any of her lingering advances, getting more and more volatile as their time together grew longer. She knew, he figured, that he stayed only for the boy. He’d tried to justify it, but with Javier becoming what he was, he couldn’t. 

A few days later John cornered him outside camp. Javier held a gun for his guard shift, tightening his grip as John approached. 

“What’s gotten into you, Javier?” 

“You can’t just come back and act like you know best. Dutch has a plan.” 

“Dutch’s plan was for them to hang me!” 

Javier’s mouth twisted with some unsaid reply. It wasn’t John he was angry with, but it would only be a matter of time. 

“Just…” John clenched his hands in frustration, “Use your head. Please.” His voice dropped to a whisper on the last word and he was nearly begging. He didn’t like it, of course, but if he had to swallow his pride just to let Javier know how much he meant it, so be it. 

Javier made no indication of sympathy so John stepped away, back onto the path to camp. He felt eyes on his back as he left. 

The days pulled on each other’s ends, stretching into one another, seamless and grey. Their camp remained the same. This far north, the days seemed unending. Twilight lasted for hours and hours, each second darker than the last, but the sun never quite making it below the horizon. John felt as if he’d been awake for days, eyes opened and following every single movement Dutch made. He wished he could stop, but he was afraid. 

John found himself speaking to Abigail and Sadie, the three of them sitting in the shade of John and Abigail’s shared tent. The two women sat close together, their hands touching. Casual, thoughtless affection that he’d give anything to get away with. John tried to ignore it. 

“What’re you gonna do about him?” Abigail asked. 

“Dutch?” 

Sadie held up her hand. “Me ‘n Arthur are worryin’ about Dutch.” 

A nod from Abigail, and she looked back to John. “I mean Javier. He means a lot to you.” 

A stab of annoyance poked at his brains, followed closely by deep-rooted panic. 

“Not only that, but he’s another man Dutch don’t need if we’re gonna win this.” Sadie added. 

“Win what?” He stood, “There ain’t no winnin’ here. Ain’t no happy endin’ for none of us.” John left the tent and stomped away to the edge of camp, around to the southern entrance. Under the shade of a tree off the road, he tried to calm himself and lit a cigarette with shaking fingers. 

There was no winning, no understanding, either. He couldn’t bear to admit to them what kept him awake at night. 

A black bird called from the branches above him before lifting itself off with a great flap of its wings. John watched it soar away over the far river. He smoked, absentmindedly fidgeting with a thread of his shirt, desperately thinking of something to say to Javier that would change his mind. If anything could be said at all. 

He waited until dusk fell, the dark closing in on the campers like an overbearing mother. Only the fire warded it away. It lit Dutch’s white tent a rich orange, no longer a color of surrender, but the color of alarm. Of caution. Micah’s man Cleet kept his beady gaze on John as he slinked around the edges of camp. He settled on leaning against Arthur’s tent, who, to no one's surprise, rarely turned up anymore. And when he did, he looked like hell. He looked weak and vulnerable and he was surrounded by the hungriest dogs in the west. 

A rustle from the left brought John’s attention to Javier emerging from the brush near the scout fire. John moved quickly, trying to look as confident as he could manage. He used his height and a stern look to try and usher Javier back into the forest. There was resistance, stubborn and proud as Javier tended to be, but he gave in. John found he usually gave in, sooner or later. 

They huddled under a rocky overhang, the orange glow of the campfire a distant comfort. “What’s this about?” 

John’s brow furrowed over his eyes in anger. “How can you be with them?” 

“Is this not your family? Did Dutch not save you like he saved me?” Javier’s own face burned with quiet rage in the moonlight. His hands rested on his guns, not left unnoticed by John. 

John shook his head, “The Dutch I known is gone, Javier. This ain’t him.” He leaned as close as he dare to the other man. “This is Micah.” 

A laugh bubbled up Javier’s throat. It was one of disbelief. “Micah? You know what Micah says about you, John?” 

“I know what he says.” 

“He says it’s you who’s the rat.” Javier pointed a finger at John’s chest. It was a shove, a dismissal. 

Just a whisper this time, “I know what he says.” 

Javier made a move to leave, but John blocked him. And when he did, Javier drew. Anticipating this, John knocked the guns from his hand onto the forest floor before Javier had a chance to clear the leather of his holster. He took Javier by the collar of his shirt and pushed him against the rock wall, meeting his lips to kiss him with all the rage and passion he could never articulate. Javier kissed him back, the two moving with aggressive but practiced motions. He shoved his tongue down John’s throat, pulling at his hair in a way that might’ve been too rough to be playful. They parted, John bowing his head into Javier’s shoulder. 

“Stay with us, John.” Javier growled against John’s ear. He inhaled sharply in surprise when John began feeling up the front of his pants, turned his head to start sucking on his neck. “John-“ His voice quiet but higher now. His fingers dug into John’s arms, but John paid it no mind. He had a hand between Javier’s legs now, palming at him through his pants. 

A soft hiss came from between Javier’s teeth as John nipped at his neck. He pulled at Javier’s scarf with his free hand. Now loose, the fabric fell to the ground to join its owner’s guns. 

John pressed the shorter man closer to the wall, replacing his hand with a knee between Javier’s thighs to keep him pinned. With two free hands, he began undoing the first few buttons of Javier’s shirt and vest. Javier threw his head back against the rock wall and began to grind down on John’s knee. He felt satisfaction at being able to still get Javier going despite their quarrels. His lips grazed the scar along Javier’s neck, but before he could do much, his head was shoved away with a grunt. He’d tried this before, but Javier would let him anywhere but near that scar. Some things never changed. 

Leaning down to leave a few more marks on Javier’s exposed chest, John finally freed his hands to begin unbuttoning the front of Javier’s pants. He slid his leg out from between Javier’s, and the other man seemed to compose himself for a moment to open his eyes and find John’s. He looked concerned as John withdrew all contact and left him standing there, disheveled and looking like he’d rolled out of bed after taking a beating the day before. John smirked, small on his scarred lips, and slowly began to lower himself to the ground, eye contact never breaking. 

He stopped on just one knee, his hand moving back to the front of Javier’s jeans. He wouldn’t give it to him just like that. 

“John.” Javier said, half a reprimand, half a whine. 

He slid his fingers underneath the top of Javier’s pants, feeling the coarse hair of his stomach thicken as it grew downward. “Yes?” 

Javier moved to roll his eyes but was stopped short when John finished unbuttoning his pants. He gently slid his hand against Javier’s dick, still looking up at him with a look that only infuriated. Javier squeezed his eyes shut and he tried to grab John’s head. 

“Ah- fuck.” 

John remained silent, but teased him farther, enjoying the sensation when Javier took his hair in frustration by the root and pulled. 

“John, please.” 

“That’s all you had to say.” John settled down on his other knee and began to suck him off. 

Javier bit his bottom lip in an attempt to keep himself quiet, but John made sure to do his damnedest to keep that from happening. 

Both of his hands kept themselves planted in John’s hair, fingernails scratching his scalp. Javier shyly bucked his hips in rhythm with John’s head bobs. A small moan came from deep in his throat and John found himself swallowing down the rest of his dick, nose brushing dark pubic hair. Then he reached down and began to feel himself, unbuttoning his pants to jerk himself off. 

“Fuck,” he barely managed, pulling tighter on John’s hair, “John-“ 

He released his hands from John’s hair, and the man pulled himself away before Javier came, eyes still screwed up in pleasure. John continued to jerk off and saw Javier watching him through half-closed eyes, resting against the wall. He gestured to him briefly and John took to his feet, Javier reaching to grab his dick and finish him off. 

“Look pretty for me, Marston.” 

“I…” John sucked in air when he came, a lungful taken while his mind wandered someplace far above Beaver Hollow. 

Javier shrugged his pants back up around his waist and buttoned them. He gave a last stroke to John’s dick in satisfaction, and slid down to sit on the forest floor. 

John joined him, the moment of ecstasy fading quickly. He pulled a box of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and offered one to Javier. The man nodded, more of just a drop of his chin than anything, and grabbed one from its place. John gave him a light before lighting his own. 

In the brief and dim glow of an inhale, John saw how tired Javier looked, his face lined deeply with stress and sleepless nights like these. John exhaled a cloud of smoke dark grey in a black night, tapping his fingers on his boots, waiting for the words to come. They didn’t. 

Javier surprised him when he spoke. “I miss you.” Then a guilty laugh. John looked up to see him smiling to himself, a little shamefully. Javier took another drag. 

John tapped his cigarette against the edge of his boot. “Is it ‘cause I’m the only one who’ll suck you off?” 

Annoyance crossed Javier’s face, “Shut up.” 

“Will you think about it?” 

Javier leaned back into the wall, chin pointing to the sky, “Dutch ain’t crazy, John. We got to trust him.” 

“That’s what I thought you’d say.” He wanted nothing more than to reach a hand out, tell Javier how much he meant to him. To lay his head on his shoulder and take his hand, even if it was one last time. Instead he let out a sigh, stubbed his cigarette butt, and got up to walk away. 

“John.” 

He looked back to see Javier looking up at him, eyes dropping from what could only be exhaustion. He looked so vulnerable, usual impeccable shirt torn open, covered in bites and scars, guns lying discarded at booted feet. John felt a prick of pride, despite it all, that he could still see this side of him. 

“I wish I could change my mind. For you.” 

“I wish you could too.” 

The last John saw of him was across the split. The vicious, snapping jaws of Micah’s men, of Micah himself, and Dutch, the realization that his sons had abandoned him. It wasn’t betrayal, but desertion. Left him to the mercy of the dogs. 

Javier met John’s eyes, not pulling his gun, no longer consumed with that look of hunger. He looked… lost, of all things. There was a glimmer of hope in John’s chest that maybe he did change his mind. But it was far too late. 

IV  
They fled, far out west, into the nests of coyotes and vultures, sands full of snakes and those words they kept behind bitten tongues. Years and years passed. John felt his body begin to stoop from labor and age. He stayed in a loveless marriage, mostly for the boy. Abigail knew what it was she’d gotten herself into. Neither regretted it, but neither one expected to have a happy future after the disbandment of their gang. He loved her, though, as best he could. 

Now he was in Mexico where the nights were hot and the days were unbearable. The deep blue of the night sky, the watching eye of the full moon kept him company in a country where he couldn’t even speak the language. 

A strong anxiety seated itself in his gut as he rode through the desert. It felt like a hole, sucking in all of his insides like bad whiskey. He knew what was coming. It was inevitable since the split. The spilt blood of his former brotherhood so that he wouldn’t be executed along with them in some faraway state, crowds of unknown faces craving violent justice. Complete strangers granting them death. 

Riding to the fort was easy, killing men, easy. They fell in the dozens to his guns, as dozens had before them. He was growing tired. 

“It’s been a long time,” John told him. He pointed his gun. “Old friend.” 

Javier lifted his hands, a small but nervous smile on his face. He was a changed man, just as John was. The years hadn’t been kind to either of them, the people hadn’t either. The future was skewed when the government knew a man’s history, and they had learned. 

A crash and boxes tumbled down on him, Javier escaping through the walls of the fort. John didn’t remember him being a coward. 

John ran to the entrance of the fort, swung his foot over the saddle of his horse, and rode after the man fading into the desert. He fired his pistol, each time praying that he’d miss. 

But pride had always been something hard to remove from hands and their practiced motions. He’d hit something eventually, and when he did, Javier tumbled from his saddle and out onto the desert floor. 

Javier fell from his horse, near the base of a Joshua tree. He tried to scramble away but John was on top of him before he had the chance. 

John tied his wrists with well-practiced, automatic motions. He couldn’t think about what he was doing.

Blood gushed from the gunshot in Javier’s chest. It turned the dust into mud, thick and ruddy. John dragged him to sit against the spindly trunk of the tree, sighing and sitting down next to him. 

“They find you?” 

John nodded, his eyes distant. They clouded with some memory Javier didn’t want to ask about. 

“Why are you doing it?” He shifted against his bonds but John knew he wouldn’t get anywhere. Sweat dropped down his face, skin clammy from the pain and shock. 

“The boy. He don’t deserve the life we lead.” 

Javier nodded, saying nothing. But he understood. Most of them had. 

“I wish…” John hesitated, “I wish we’d met under different circumstances.” 

He scoffed, “Yeah, without you slaughtering my men.” 

“No, no. I mean-“ He turned and looked at Javier. Only the moon lit his skin, pale and ashen. They both looked like corpses. “I mean the gang. I mean this world. I wish…” 

Realization crept into Javier’s face. Minute but still John saw it. He saw the regret, as he thought he might. It pained him to think that whatever it was they’d shared was a bad memory. It was one of John’s only good ones. 

“I thought about you every day, John. After you left. I wanted so badly to hate you...” 

“I did what needed to be done.” 

“You ever think about what we coulda been?” 

“World ain’t kind to people like us.” 

“Would’ve been easier if you just tried.” Javier kept sucking in wheezing breaths. With nothing to stop the bleeding, not even his own bound hands, his wound kept flowing. It stained his sandy brown jacket, his white shirt, and dripped down into the sand. His eyes grew hazy. John just watched. “I been with other men after I lost you. It coulda been just the two of us out there.” 

“I- I ain’t cut out for that. Not when I have a son.” 

“I know.” Javier rolled his head to look at John, his face carefully neutral. “Don’t bring me back to America. If I can ask for one thing, don’t let those bastards kill me. Let me die here.” 

“You’re bleedin’ like a stuck pig, it matter how you die?” 

Javier just shook his head, “Just finish what you started, John. I can’t.” 

“Right for a man to die at his home.” 

He didn’t expect Javier to smile. “Home ain’t been the same since I met you.” He was breathing softer now, “I’m home, now.” 

John looked down to his revolver, tarnished and covered in the desert’s fine powder. It beared what would’ve once been delicate engravings, now worn away by the sand and by time. Then he looked back up to Javier, saw what could’ve been in a different time, like looking at a photograph of someone who passed. 

“I loved you.” 

John rode back into the states alone, the rising sun promising another scorching day. His back ached from digging a grave, his mind heavy with another ghost.


End file.
